


Of Cats and Kin

by DT Maxwell (Draya)



Series: Of Dancing Shadows and Glittering Eyes [2]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Cats, Families of Choice, Gen, Interspecies Friendship, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draya/pseuds/DT%20Maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliénor has a particularly close relationship with the cats of London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cats and Kin

**Author's Note:**

> Ali's nickname is 'Ali-cat,' which is a horrific pun considering both her love of cats and her usual skulking through Spite alleyways. Do I feel shame? Not a bit.
> 
> Also, I have so many headcanons about the cats of Fallen London. So. Many.
> 
> The characters of Sir Rattington and Francis, mentioned herein, belong to my good friend and fellow Fallen London partner-in-crime, [infiniteprobabilities](http://infiniteprobabilities.tumblr.com/). Ippie's awesome people.
> 
> Originally written and posted to my tumblr around mid-February 2016.

Soft-as-Midnight, an inky black shadow of a queen with a place of honor in the Tortoiseshell Wing of the Shuttered Palace, had deigned to saunter down to Spite for gossip one day years ago, when a new-to-London French mademoiselle had appeared out of seemingly nowhere to swoop the cat up into her arms. Soft-as-Midnight had been impressed with the human’s audacity, cunning, and stealth, and, as was tradition, had offered secrets in reward.

(That she would find her way to the human kit’s lodgings and continue to offer secrets and advice was, perhaps, not quite so traditional. Soft-as-Midnight, however, was a respected matriarch of the cats of London, and allowed her peculiarities.)

She had been Aliénor’s first friend in the Fifth City, and then one day she had _vanished._

Aliénor had been looking for Midnight for a long time now. She hadn’t been able to find out any details about Midnight’s banishment from the Duchess’s good graces, unfortunately, and none of the greys and blacks of All Christs and the Spite alleys had seen Midnight, either, which was worrisome. There was only one explanation for Midnight's inexplicable disappearance without even a whisper of a hint, and so Ali had turned to her attention to finding every damned boxed cat circulating through the London postal system.

(And there were _so many_  of them. Damned Londoners and their awful "traditions.")

She wasn't alone in her search, at least: the Whistlers and many of Ali’s contacts throughout the city were on the lookout for the missing queen, to which Ali would admit was touching and humbling. (Who would ever think she would have proper  _friends_  one day.) The biggest shocks of late had been two of Midnight’s kittens showing up on her doorstep: Walks-on-Whispers, sullen and covered in pink paint for the Feast of the Exceptional Rose ( _how_  little Whispers had ended up outside the Tortoiseshell Wing, never mind the Palace, was a mystery in and of itself); and Walks-in-Shadow, retrieved by Sir Rattington and his hound companion Francis during a foray into the Palace for possible clues as to Midnight’s location.

(For all that Francis was as gentle as a cloud, and dumber than a brick, Shadow was still partially traumatized from being slobbered on as she was carried away from the Palace by a rat and a dog. It had taken hours to finally coax the tiny cat down from where she’d curled into Ali’s neck, poor little girl, and she’d immediately gone to cuddle with her sister and Darcy in front of the fireplace.)

And now here was another cat, faintly _mrowling_  in a box sent through the post that had been left on the doorstep to Ali's current lodging.

Aliénor just hoped it wasn’t another Starveling Cat. _Why_  had she agreed to take in that demon…

Sighing, she unwrapped the box.

As soon as she’d made a large enough hole in the top of the package, a feline head popped through: long, fluffy fur so inky black it seemed to absorb the candelight, neat ears and long whiskers indicative of fine breeding, and brilliant, piercing, _familiar_ blue eyes.

Ali gasped. “ _Midnight?!”_

Midnight purred. “Oh, at _last_ ,” she said as Ali practically tore the rest of the box apart to get it open. Midnight seemed to ooze out of her prison, arching her back and stretching languorously on the table once she was fully free. “Thank you, darling. I was starting to think I would end up shuffled between Veilgarden and the docks for the rest of my lives.”

Aliénor felt tears well up in her eyes, and she swooped the cat up into her arms. She pressed her face into the long-missed, achingly familiar softness of Midnight’s fur, took two hitching breaths, and burst into sobs.

Midnight simply rubbed her face against Ali’s head, and continued purring.


End file.
